Page 44 of Stolen By the Hit Man
I sit up straight. “Who?!”
“Jasmyn.”
“If you’re moving in with me, you better spill the tea!”
He gets up and plonks the spoon into the sink, then sits down again with a heavy sigh. “There was this musician…”
Joaquin goes on to tell me a wild tale about a shady manager, embezzled money, stalking, harassment, breaking and entering, and some very, very dark threats. Joaquin finally tracked down the perpetrator in Florida.
It all sounds wildly familiar. And then it hits me. The particular artist he’s talking about is famous. Like, really, really famous. “Wait a minute. I remember reading something about this. Everyone said he disappeared in Mexico!”
He shrugs.
“That was you?”
“I can’t confirm or deny anything if you guess the identity of my clients. But I will have to get you to sign an NDA.”
My screeching almost drowns out the creak of the door as it opens.
I jump at the sight of a guy almost as big as Joaquin, and just as scruffy. His boots echo against the weak floorboards as he strides across the room, headed straight to the fridge.
“Hey, brother,” the man who can only be Jefferson says.
Following him into the kitchen is a tiny red-haired woman.
She sees me sitting there, staring, and smiles. “Hi! I’m Georgie,” she says, offering me her hand.
“I’m Jasmyn.”
“Please excuse my husband. He’s rude when he’s hungry.
The man with his head in the fridge turns and waves. “I’m Jefferson.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Get what you need and shut the fridge. You know that thing is a piece of crap and you’re gonna let all the cold air out,” Joaquin tells him with the kind of unserious annoyance that only exists between close siblings.
“Only because you’re cheap,” Jefferson mutters.
The back door opens then, grabbing everyone’s attention.
I expect to see Nelly stroll inside as dominant as ever. But it’s not her at the door.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as six people stroll in like they own this tiny room. I’ve never seen them face to face, but I’ve seen their likenesses before. Their photos are posted all over the church compound, warning the members to be on the lookout for these criminals. Olivia, Louisa, Goldie, Wylie, Ellis,and Barrett are wanted for breaking and entering, burglary, and kidnapping.
They call them “The Wylie Gang.”
No one has seen any of them since a girl named Georgeanne disappeared.
Then it hits me. That woman with Jefferson? Her name is Georgie. God, I’m such an idiot.
My throat dries up as I watch everyone greet each other like they’re all the best of friends.
“What…what’s happening?” I ask. “What are they doing here?”
But nobody hears me. Georgie is on her feet. People are exchanging hugs and handshakes as if this were a family reunion.
I need to get out of here.
